when i'm bored, i make stuff.
today i tried my hand at making stuff that did not involve video games. in this case, it's the pilot to a thing i might end up calling Rabbit Punch, which is a story about a group of adventurers who live in a post-apocalyptic world where giant robots are actually very much commonplace
can you guess the influences?
We arrived at the mine just before sundown. A few Suits stood around, keeping watch, shining their headlights as they slowly turned. I couldn't hear the creaking of metal or the roar of diesel, so either they were so far away they just LOOKED small, or they were newer, more advanced models that the Uppers dropped more recently. Neither possibility was particuarly comforting, though Sampson had mentioned wanting to fight something bigger then him for a change. I sincerely hoped he wouldn't get the chance.
A cursory glance revealed a few more mecha, and a few men on machine guns on catwalks and natural ledges, and what seemed initially to be some sort of horrible gaseous monstrosity but turned out to be a smudge on the inside of my windshield. After resolving to clean the Hare after everything was said and done, I opened up a hatch on my dashboard and retrieved a paper and pencil, taking notes on locations and writing down possible means of action. It was then that Romen decided to get my attention.
"Cairo!" he yelled, leaning out a bit from his windshield, but putting a hand to his mouth as if he was trying to be quiet.
I looked up, and made an exaggerated sort of writing motion. He did this all the time, but still didn't get the message. He did that all the time, too.
A breif pause.
"Caaairrro! Can you hear me?!"
I looked up again, showed him my paper with one hand, and pointed to it with the other. I also made sure to make the angriest, most frustrated-looking face possible.
That seemed enough to get the message across, because Romen retreated back into his roosterpit, causing the Graveler to shake a bit. I told him it was a dumb name- nobody would respect anything that shared a name with the thing they were standing on- but he insisted that it was, in fact, badass, as it was the GravelER- as in, something that MAKES gravel.
I then told him it also sort of sounded like "Groveler", and he looked like he'd been told his parents were dead.
"CAAAIIIIRRRRO!!" he yelled.
"What?!" I yelled, rolling down the window. Romen was leaning out of the Graveler again, yelling into a tin can like a make-shift megaphone. Even though he was only a few meters off the ground- well within a survivable margin- he tottered dangerously, flailing his arms wildly for a moment, before regaining his balance.
"Give me a second, man! I'm trying to plan our attack here!" I said.
A spotlight shone on us. Actually, maybe 3 or 4. I felt like a cartoon character.
"Is that so?!" said one of the Suits' pilots, a bandit we'd been hired to scare off. He spoke in exactly the tone of voice you would expect. "Get 'em, boys!"
A barrage of machine gun fire whipped around in every direction- some from the catwalk guns, some from the Suits' handheld rifles. A bullet the size of a large dog zipped past my little Hare, and I saw my life flash before my eyes. Or, more accurately, I saw the part of my life where I had a large-dog-sized bullet zip past my Hare about 3 times. Instinctively, I made my robot crouch down, placing an unflinching wall of rock and more rock infront of me.
"Romen?" I said.
"Cairo?" he said.
"I think we should run." I said.
At that moment, an entire shelf of earth- weakened apart by the simultaneous stress of two giant robots, an onslaught of dog-bullets and the weight of our own misfortune- deattached itself from it's landing and slid down at a terrifying pace, carrying us with it into the mine. I looked to Romen. He had that look in his eye- the kind that you can see two giant robots away.
"Live a little, Cairo! This is what brawlers like us run on!" he said.
I rolled my eyes.
He stood up. More accurately, he and his ENTIRE ROBOT stood up. Just before we hit the ground, he sprung into action; and the Graveler leapt into the air, bullets flying in every direction but toward it. Actually, no, that's not true, because I heard a rather distinctive 'ping!' sound- which is the sound that a dog-bullet makes when it smashes into the least vulnerable part of the Graveler's body: it's fist.
See, Romen- before I met him, at least- was apparently a miner, too; which explains why, when a fellow miner appeared in need, 'we' jumped at the chance to help him. Maybe he felt a kinship. Maybe he felt he hadn't gotten in a good fight in for a long time. Maybe both. I wouldn't put it past him. The Graveler is the only thing he has of his old life- a Human-Shape "Sandrat" Suit, Upper-Designed and all, with strong hands for handling rocks and strong arms for breaking them. He's apparently had it long enough for the paint job to have faded away, because he says it was originally a blue, brighter then the sky- which has been reduced to a more brownish, tealish color.
It moved with a remarkable grace- almost like a man, except giant and metal and very angry. He drove a metal fist- screaming all the while- into some poor sap's mecha with all the momentum you'd expect from dropping into an underground mine and then some, before tumbling some distance into the next guy because he messed up his landing. The sheer chaos kicked up a cloud of dust, and then I couldn't see anything.
That bullet- the one that went 'ping!'- landed right next to me. The Hare ended up tumbling down to a stop, lying flat on the floor, but luckily the sheer panic risen by a flying Sandrat caused all the dudes with giant guns to stop paying attention to me and shift their focus to the real threat, which I figured was a reasonable choice of action. I got the Hare to sit up with a little effort, and- using the chaos to mask my movement- got behind one of the bandit's suits. I was poised to strike, and then Romen swooped in and punched it into a catwalk.
"GRAVELER PUNNNNNNNNCH!" he said. Well, screamed. Actually, both parties were sort of screaming. Puncher and punch-ee. It begame hard to distinguish after a while.
"I always wanted to say that!" he said.
"Oh yeah?! Well, two can play at that game!" said someone else- a bandit, probably. I saw his silhouette rise out from the dust; painted a rather intimidating matte-black. "WOLVER KIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!"
Then he kicked him.
"Waaaaaaaaaaaagh!" yelled Romen, as the Graveler rocketed into a wall. He flipped, moments before impact, and landed feet-first on the wall, before propelling himself back into the fray. "You're good! Who're you?!"
"My name is Meize! This is my Wolver!" he said, striking a pose.
"My name is Romen! This is my Graveler!" replied Romen, also striking a pose.
"Graveler? What, like... like groveler?" said Meize, genuinely perplexed.
I think Romen was going to cry.
"Names aside, that's good! I love meetin' strong opponents!" Meize said, striking another pose. "But sadly, I've gotta split! We'll have 'ta do this some other time! Boss says we gotta blow this joint an' go!"
"So, see ya!" he said. Then the Wolver jumped away, out the opening of the mine- where we were maybe a few minutes ago, a QUARTER MILE UP- and disappeared from view.
Seriously. Then, the rest of his men disappeared into the mine in various directions- presumably toward other exits. Remarkably, nobody seemed to have died, or even have gotten hurt.
"d'you think he meant something by 'blow this joint'?" I said, turning to Romen.
"CAIRO I FOUND A BOMB"
"Oh." I said.
Romen held it up, juggling it between both hands in panic. It was a big, clunky thing- jury rigged from a big gas tank, a bunch of dynamite sticks and what appeared to be a few landmines that nobody wanted, all stuck together with duct tape. He then threw it up, into the air, at the ledge, screaming all the while. It blew, showering us with little bits of rocks, then a BUNCH of rocks, which I scrambled out of the way to dodge but Romen seemed completely unphased by, leaving us with enough places to hold onto for a convinent climb out.
I shot Romen a look. He didn't seem to notice. We climbed out quickly- though not nearly at the pace the Wolver made. He probably set some sort of air speed record.
Romen was emitting a strange growling noise.
"I'll never forgive 'em!" he said.
"Never forgive who?" I said.
"That bastard Meize! The Graveler is a man, not some blubberin' coward!"
We reached the mouth of the tunnel. The sun had finally begun to set, and the sky turned a brilliant red. Romen's Suit stood silhouetted against the horizon, and I felt like a cartoon character again.
"I'll make 'em pay if it's the last thing I do!" he yelled.
